


In the Absence of Company

by AshAndSnow



Series: Through the Eyes of Strangers [2]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Human AU, Loki is sad, Tony Stark is dying, this is a sad fic, ye be warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-11
Updated: 2013-10-11
Packaged: 2017-12-29 02:38:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/999870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AshAndSnow/pseuds/AshAndSnow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the last few months of Tony Stark's life, things are going downhill at such a breakneck pace that all Loki can think of is the impending crash that is bound to tear them apart and turn Loki's world upside down.</p><p>Told through the perspective of a nurse who really shouldn't be stopping and chatting to strangers when she is busy with work. Well... it's not like anybody is going to need the reading on that blood pressure right away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Absence of Company

**Author's Note:**

> A short little something I wrote in the spur of the moment. I hope you like it! Comments will be appreciated :)

She is actually on her way to check mr. Wilkinson’s blood pressure, but she just can’t walk past the scene before her.

It’s simple enough on it’s own, nothing special. A man looking through the window of room 325, watching a woman and a man talk.

Through the window, she sees the woman sit by the man’s bedside, strawberry blonde hair in an elegant pony tail. She can tell that she is tall even though she is sitting down and she has an undeniable air of professionalism and an underlying current of sadness.

The man is looking incredibly well groomed considering he is in a hospital and he is laughing away, seemingly joking with the woman in an attempt to make her crack a smile but his eyes are a certain kind of flat as if he knows he doesn’t have long and that the cheer is for show, to ease the transition for those who will be left behind.

The man outside is leaning against the window, somewhat hidden by the curtain hanging on the inside of the window. If the two people inside looked out they wouldn’t see him but he has a perfect view of them. His clothing seems ill fitting. The skinny jeans probably fit him perfectly not too long ago but his sweater is big and black and he is practically drowning in it, hiding from the world. He is clutching a cup of something steaming hot from Starbucks like he really is drowning, like that cup is the only thing in the world keeping him sane and grounded and a simple golden band with little emeralds on is sitting on his left ring finger, almost loose and in danger of coming off but not quite.

The most striking thing about him, though, is his eyes. They are green. A beautiful and leafy green but sorrow has dulled them down. She imagines they were once vivid and bright and clear, the very shade of the stones in what has to be his wedding ring. They were probably once joyful and she detects a hint of something calculating in them. He has smart eyes beneath the film of sadness, like a permanent and shiny sheen of tears in his eyes. She doesn’t think he has cried properly for ages even if he looks like he needs it.

Above all, he looks exhausted and resigned. Like he has accepted the same fate as the man in the room but refuses to let it go by with ease as the older of the two wants. His lips are thin and his cheeks a little sunken in.

She wonders at what he is to the man in the room. He is too old to be a son of his and they look nothing alike at all. He looks too resigned to be a friend. She comes to the conclusion that maybe they are married. There is quite an age difference between them, true, but the young man outside is too invested in this man, too sorrowful. She can tell he loves him.

She doesn’t know why she does it and she doesn’t realize she is approaching him until her hand comes to rest on his shoulder. He doesn’t flinch or look away from the window. He doesn't turn to talk, but he doesn’t shoo her away either.

A beat of silence passes between them because she doesn’t know what to say and he seems to not really fully register she is there. Then he speaks up.

“I told him to take better care of himself, you know? I would always tell him to smoke less, work less, drink less. It’s hard enough watching him wither and age naturally. He doesn’t need to add fuel to an already wildly blazing fire.”

She doesn’t know what to answer to that. She has no idea why the older of the two is the hospital or who he is.

“I hate him,” he spits, sudden and vicious and it startles her but she stays in place. “I hate him for doing this to himself. To me. To us. I should have left him long ago.”

“I don't think you could. You love him too much.”

She shouldn’t speak up or make assumptions. It’s wrong and unprofessional and she really needs to go do her job. But it seems to stir him back to reality as he turns his head - finally tearing his gaze away from the window. The green of his eyes is shocking as he meets her gaze despite the watered down, heartsick quality to it.

“Yes,” he says, raw emotion displayed on his face and she suddenly gets the feeling that the desperate and infinite sadness she has witnessed is only present because he thought nobody was watching. “I do.” Then his whole being tenses up and he slips into an arrogant and haughty, cold mask that looks so natural it has to be well practiced. She would buy into it and the only reason she doesn’t is what she just saw.

Abruptly, he turns and walks down the hall, angry and stiff strides. She thinks she saw a single tear streak on his face before he left.

Well. She had to get back to work anyway.


End file.
